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The wives of Wisteria Lane are "comfortably entertaining".Photo: Supplied

With a nod to David Lynch, a wink at John Waters and salute to
the garishly wonderful colours of a Disney cartoon, life on
Wisteria Lane meanders along in a mildly entertaining fashion this
week.

There are reliable constants - emaciated lead characters, bad
haircuts, classic Chanel, manicured lawns, Andy Warhol rip-off
artwork - and numerous variables. Residents finally learn the fate
of Martha Huber, a sinister stranger reappears, and Freudian
fetishism gets a humorous, albeit predictable work out. Then again,
symbolic castration, as cliched and comical as it is - Bree shoots
her new beau's toe off with a pistol - always elicits a laugh or
two.

Various sub-plots twist and thicken. Susan finally confesses to
Edie about burning down her house and ends up wearing Mrs Huber.
Stepford wife Bree ventures on a handful of awkward dates with
dorky and mildly pathological George, the pharmacist, and finds
that revenge isn't as simple as she had imagined. And the faintly
human, perpetually strung-out Lynette attempts a rort that involves
her son Parker, a bimbo receptionist, child day care, chewing gum,
cancer, moral values and yoga. A kooky mix. A few doors down,
Gabrielle faces the fact that with her bank accounts frozen - a
result of Carlos' arrest - she must either seek employment or cut
spending. Her first gig? Selling cars in a shopping mall.

Last but not least, Carlos returns home from prison to enjoy a
glass of cheap champagne, don a neat anklet-cum-tracking-device
(he's under house arrest, pending trial) and hatch his next evil
plan.

There's a gentle smattering of home truths - when George asks
Bree why she won't kiss him she responds: "You should never listen
to a woman who has just had her heart broken, because we tend to
lie". Edie muses over whether people typecast at school as geeks,
freaks or cheerleaders ever escape that identity, and a voice over
wonders about those hapless souls who spend their lives sitting on
the sidelines waiting for something to happen and make their
existence meaningful.

As a meditation on the dark underbelly of suburban life,
Desperate Housewives falls a long way short. As a
comfortably entertaining and relatively mindless Monday night
fashion parade, it's entertaining enough to curb your channel
surfing.